Little Things That Kill
by Crumpet of the Sea
Summary: Broken water pipes lead to fist fights and angry dry humping. Somewhat violent. Language. RD slash


a/n: This is a compilation, between me and my friend. She wrote Ron's side.When she posts her story, I'll write up a link to it on my author's page. 

Enjoy.

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My head was buzzing with useless trains of thought, and the pounding in my temples was not going away. The last thing I needed was to get wet on a chilly spring day.

But of course that's what happened.

Fuck fuck fuck fucking FUCK!

A pipe had burst and the spray had broken open a hole in the wall, flooding the corridor with freezing water. I noticed it too late and walked right into the enormous puddle, soaking my shoes, my pants, the hem of my robes. Godamnit, could this day get any fucking worse!

The answer is Yes, it can. And it will.

Another afternoon spent in unsuccessful labor, tinkering with that damn Cabinet, producing nothing more than sore shoulders and a migraine. A little while ago I'd left and begun to wander. Just ambling down one hallway and up another in a dispassionate daze. Thinking of nothing when I should have been planning.

I walked on, splashing with every step. I dimly noted some people coming toward me, but my eyes were lowered and I didn't particularly care. What hadn't I tried on the Cabinet yet? Why wasn't what I had working?

Perhaps if I –

Like a bolt from the blue, a solid body entered my vision and crashed into me, colliding with the force of a train wreck. Under the impact, I stumbled back a step, almost falling into the water. Righting myself, I turned my head, furious, to see who the interloper was.

Weasley.

A sudden rush of hate burned inside me, siphoning off any words I might otherwise have spat at him. I felt something animalistic growing deep in my chest, and before either of us could speak, I 'd slammed my knuckles deep into his jaw. His head snapped to the side, and for just a moment there was silence, except for the sound of running water. The absurdity of my reaction almost made me laugh.

The next second, I was on my back, water filling my mouth, my nose, my eyes. He was sitting on top of me, crushing my stomach and forcing the air violently out of my lungs. He grabbed hold of my collar and yanked my ahead above the water, then shoved me back down before I could take a breath. Potter and Granger were screaming, but below the surface I couldn't hear them. I saw Weasley, refracted through the water, his face a blur, the fiery red of his hair the only true color I could see as I grew dizzy from lack of oxygen.

Coming back to myself just a little, I bucked my hips, trying to throw him off, and managed to drive an elbow into his ribs, making him let go. I wriggled out from under him and gasped for breath as I broke the surface.

Seeing his red head out of the corner of my eye, I kicked out, intending to smash his face in. But from my awkward position, sprawled on my side, half in and half out of the water, my aim was clumsy, and my foot only glanced off his chest. He grabbed my foot, about to pull me down, but he was suddenly yanked from behind, up and out of the water.

Unable to see in detail for the water in my eyes, I assumed it was Potter or Granger, Gryffindors to the rescue. Scrubbing my vision clear, I was horrified to see it was Filch holding Weasley back with one hand, and with the other, reaching to grip my shoulder and force me to my feet.

His liver-spotted grip was stronger than I would have guessed, and he wouldn't let go. I noticed for the first time that we'd attracted a crowd, and my face grew hot, from anger as much as embarrassment. Maybe I shouldn't have hit him, but he should have been watching where he was going.

Bastard.

"Ron, you idiot." It was Granger, yelling, as usual. "Calm down, or you'll only get into more trouble."

Finally. The first sensible words I'd heard spoken in way-too-long. She might have been worthwhile company, if she'd been pure. Did I really just think that? I laughed.

"Yah, that's it, Weasel! You listen to your little Mudblood bitch! God knows she's got more sense than you and your entire family put together!"

He turned, teeth clenched, eyes aflame, and dove at me, only to be caught by Filch and shoved down onto his ass. The crowd laughed and he flushed a deep pink at the sound.

"You," Filch growled, and hauled Weasley up again. "An' you," he crooked a bony finger at me, "Come with me."

"What!" Fuck no! I couldn't get detention! I got into the Room of Requirement little enough as it was. I had to get out of it. "I didn't do anything wrong! He tried to KILL ME!"

Weasley wasn't going to make it easy. "Are you fucking kidding! YOU hit ME first!"

"I DON'T CARE WHO STARTED WHAT!" Filch's yell left an echo off the walls and the water. "The two of you'll be in detention 'til yeh look like me, if I have anythin' to do with it! Now, MOVE!"

I heard Weasley mutter something to Potter and Granger and suddenly Filch had my arm and was dragging the two of us along.

"Sixth years fightin', eh?" Filch growled at us, "That'll be a much harsher punishment since yeh should know better. Not to mention yer both prefects, ent yeh?"

He cackled evilly as he dragged the two of us the long way to his office, taking special delight in describing vividly any and all penalties he could concoct, most of them involving whips and chains. Sick, kinky bastard.

Listening to his sadistic fantasies, unrealistic as they were, just fueled the rage I felt toward Weasley for getting me into this humiliating situation.

I seethed with anger under his grip. I felt like a wild dog, longing to finish the fight, to hurt, to spill blood and pain across the floor. I glared my hatred at Weasley across Filch's arm, and he matched it.

God, I wanted to hurt him.

We arrived and Filch pitched us none-too-gently into his cramped office. He was no doubt ready to dish out more heartwarming tales when there came an enormous sound, of heavy objects falling and glass breaking. Whatever it was must have been catastrophic to create such a noise.

Filch was obviously torn between investigating and continuing to terrorize errant students. He let out an angry sigh of defeat, which sounded much more like death rattle, and shook a crooked finger at us. "You two stay here. Yer not off the hook."

Leaving, he slammed the door shut, and Weasley and I were left alone. For a moment we just stood and looked at each other. I kept my face carefully neutral.

"Whatever." He turned to the door dismissively. "Fuck this."

I leaned against Filch's desk and tried to ignore him, but it wasn't easy. All those damn freckles. Distracting.

He first tried to open it manually, but it was locked. Idiot. I could have told him that. Then he drew his wand to try and magic it, though without a doubt it had been charmed against unlocking spells.

"Alohamora!" He said to the door, and nothing happened. He jiggled the handle and still nothing. Did he really think that would work? Filch wouldn't let a cockroach escape from his clutches, let alone two delinquents. I couldn't help but laugh at his gullibility.

Weasley glared venomously out of the corner of his eye. "Blow me," he muttered darkly.

"Yeah, don't tempt me," I scoffed, voice dripping sarcasm, "Just 'cause you're the Golden Boy's prime punk doesn't mean the rest of us are all that fucking interested."

He rounded on me with a snarl. "You can just keep your trash talking to a minimum, Malfoy," he snapped, "It's your fault we're in this mess."

"My fault? You bumped into me!"

"You don't hit someone just for that. Normal people don't do that."

He was right of course, but I would have rather died than admit it. I drew myself up as tall as I could, painfully aware that I only came up to his shoulders; he was like a fucking scarecrow. Not that I was intimidated. "Don't talk down to me, Weasley, you son of a -"

His fist in my gut comes as a surprise; he should not have been able to move that fast. I coughed and struggled, suddenly unable to breathe. The desk I was leaning against was the only thing keeping me from falling to me knees. I sucked in a breath as his fist retreated, and kicked him as hard as I could in the kneecap. It was a cheap trick, but Slytherins don't put much faith in fighting fair. He threw me up against the wall and slugged me across the jaw. I spit blood out onto his robes and lunged to hit him back, but he ducked and forced me back again, scraping my skin on the rough-hewn walls, even through my clothes.

He held me pinned with a surprisingly strong arm across my chest, and I tucked my chin down and bit him, sinking my teeth deep into his wrist. He let out a short yell and ripped his arm away, leaving skin and blood on my teeth.

His eyes were blazing dangerously, and if I hadn't been just as furious, I might have had the sense to be afraid. With a growl, he bent forward and bit my mouth, my lips and my tongue bleeding under his teeth. Hot and metallic, the blood slid down my throat, and I swallowed it, biting him back with just as much force and pounding on his collarbone with a fist.

He grabbed my wrists and pinned them to my sides. That just left his mouth and mine, mashed together, wet with blood and saliva, teeth clacking and tongues scraping heavily. Our hips slammed together, painfully, and I noticed his stiff dick before my own.

It felt so impossibly good to grind my wet crotch against his, and apparently his thoughts were the same; a deep, rumbling sound vibrated in his chest, a beast-like groan, like nothing I'd ever heard before. I rolled my hips against him again and again until his breathing was ragged and his grip on my wrists loosened. Then I seized the front of his robes and threw him, back-bent, over Filch's desk. Straddling his hips, I sat down fully on him, grinding my ass against his cock, my own rubbing deliciously against his belly. The desk below us creaked, but the sound was far away.

I bent down and bit the tender flesh where shoulder met neck, sucked hard on the wound I created, licked the blood away and gnawed it. I could hear his breath catching in his chest. Hands resting on my hips, his fingers dug painfully into my ass, sure to leave bruises. I grabbed his shoulders and shoved myself hard down on him; he gasped hoarsely beneath me and the sound was infinitely satisfying. His mouth found my throat, sucking hard, and I arched above him, scraping my nails down his cloth-covered chest, then fisted my hands into his hair, forcing his lips against mine again.

He rocked his hips up and I slammed my ass down on him, his hands there guiding. I growled softly into his mouth, breathing in his exhalations. His fingers dug their way underneath my shirt, nails clawing and drawing blood.

My breaths were tight and sharp, almost moans. I wanted more of him, more of his skin under my hands, more of his taste in my mouth. This heat that seemed to burn right through me was emanating from him, and I wanted it to devour me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, spots of light dancing in my vision. Our thrusts were getting harder and shallower; I was close, and I knew he was too. Hunching against him, I tried to reach that place faster, tried to increase that amazing heat and suffocating pressure.

He came first, with a loud, shuddering groan against my neck, his nails scoring deep across my back, making my stomach tighten and my cock throb. I came hard, messy, choking on a scream and riding out my orgasm on his hips.

I fell across him, panting hard over the torn and bleeding flesh on his shoulder, his own breath rasping in my ear. I felt sweat rapidly cooling on my forehead, my neck, my legs, felt the blood oozing on my back, felt the cum sticky on my thighs, felt our hearts hammering against each other as we lay there, heaving for breath.

Resting my head against his chest, I looked and saw strands of scarlet hair wound through my tightly clenched fingers, and it suddenly crashed into me, the realization of what I had just done. I pressed the fist to my mouth, and clenched my eyes shut tightly, praying, praying, praying that when they opened, I would see that it had all been a dream.

Any hope at fantasy was then wrecked as he shoved me off him and scrambled away. I straightened, looking away from him, my mind still roiling. I felt like I was still underwater, struggling to breathe, struggling to think. Nothing was making sense… I was drowning…

Weasley's voice cut right through the whirlwind, breaking the storm, bringing me back to myself, to my anger, the only thing that could possibly save me right now.

"Did we… I mean, did we just…?"

"Shut up, weasel," my voice was a hoarse whisper. Each word was a confirmation to myself, reasserting my mind and body. "You know what just happened, so stop blathering like an idiot."

He did not respond, and after a moment, I couldn't help the impulse to turn and look at him. I immediately wished I hadn't. Mussed hair, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, clothes in disarray. The blood on his neck. It sent a shock straight to my gut. Why did this have to happen?

He looked away. I wondered what he was thinking as he did.

Filch entered, and without ceremony or regard to our appearance, he filled out our detention papers. Then we were dismissed. It seemed somehow anticlimactic.

I felt that I should be feeling something. Rage, shame, anything. But there was only a strange, gnawing emptiness in the pit of my stomach…. But, of course, I'd missed dinner. That was what it was.

We left Filch's office, and neither of us spoke. He apparently didn't want to ruin the perfectly awkward silence. I wasn't about to. The entire situation was almost over. Only a few more step and I'd be safely on my way to the dungeons, away from him.

"Er… Malfoy?" Of course.

I turned, now feeling the anger. What could he possibly have to say? Didn't he want this to be over and forgotten?

"Look," he grabbed my arm and dragged me closer. My skin chilled at the touch, goose bumps rising, muscles clenching. "Don't say anything about what happened, understand? Neither one of us would benefit if this got out, I expect."

Imbecile! What did he think I was going to do, prattle off the tale to any and everyone who would listen? As if I would want anyone to know such an….incident had occurred. And with Weasley no less. Stupid, idiotic, simpleminded FOOL!

I wrenched myself out of his grip and hit him, hard, as hard as I could, putting all that rage, hate, even the pleasure behind it. As if I could somehow force it all on him, and make my own memories disappear. I began to walk away.

"Fucking shit, what was that for?"

Hell if I know.

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End file.
